


Guildpact's Orders

by MoriartyElias



Category: Magic: The Gathering (Card Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, BDSM, M/M, Oral Sex, dom jace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 16:50:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20392978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoriartyElias/pseuds/MoriartyElias
Summary: Ral Zarek of the Izzet League has a formal request for the Guildpact to deregulate his guild.Jace Beleren has decided not to comply, and will use any means necessary to make sure this doesn't cause problems.Well, okay, he'll try one thing, but it works, doesn't it?





	Guildpact's Orders

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WaterSeraphim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaterSeraphim/gifts).

Ral Zarek did not want to be here. He did not want to be in this room, he did not want to be in this building, and he wasn’t especially fond of this plane at the present moment either. But being in a different room than the one Niv-Mizzet expected you to be in was not a good idea, particularly when the room you were supposed to be in was his office.

“Does it have to be me? Surely you can send someone else!”

“There are multiple advantages to sending you.” The dragon stared down at Ral with a look that most Izzet guildmages recognized as patronizing. “One, you were one of the candidates for Guildpact in the first place, and are therefore my closest servant to him in terms of skillset.”

One of the hundreds of TV monitors around Niv-Mizzet flared to life, depicting Ral and the insufferable Jace Beleren shaking hands in front of Paruns’ Pillar. Ral fought down the urge to point out the original context, or to mention the line of other candidates just out of frame behind him.

“Two, you have an impressive record regarding property damage, which I’m sure will give us a significant advantage in the negotiations.”

A graph that had to be split across multiple screens appeared, ranking every guildmage in ascending order of property damage across their careers. Ral was in the low billions of zinos, a bracket most commonly occupied by the newest recruits to the League.

“Not very compelling,” he spoke up. “That’s the thing about lightning, sir; it tends to kill people but leave buildings standing.” He let a few sparks dance along his fingers.

“Only below a certain energy threshold, which you seem to be unique in refusing to surpass.” Niv-Mizzet gestured to a variety of scenes of Ral in action, his billions of forks of lightning dancing expertly between civilians to clear out the raiding parties. “Your sense of direction is rivaled only by your restraint.”

_In Izzet terms, anyway_. Ral remained thankful that his master could not read thoughts.

“And three, your unique position within the guild as my viceroy and your active involvement in infrastructure planning and development makes you the highest-ranking expert on this project that I can send without getting out of my office.” Niv-Mizzet spread his wings to demonstrate. “If that is not enough to convince the Living Guildpact of how invested I am in this proposal, I do not know what else will suffice.”

Ral sighed, and rubbed his temple. “Are you seriously going through all of this just to get the Azorius off our backs?”

“This isn’t just about the Azorius. This is about all the guilds.” Every screen in the room roared to life with a complete map of Ravnica. “Under the Living Guildpact, open war between guilds is forbidden. With our usual avenues of territory expansion closed to us, we require a more subtle approach.” Red lines traced themselves across the map, converging on key strategic points. “If the Guildpact can convince the Golgari that we do not require supervision during sewer repair, we could effectively weaponize the city’s entire water system, one pipe at a time.”

“Or you could just buy extra office space.”

A part of Ral began to insist that he had not meant to say that out loud. The rest of Ral Zarek straightened his back and did some idle calculations on the maximum wattage that a dragon could survive.

Niv-Mizzet regarded Ral with a look of acute frustration, accented with just a touch of pride. “Really, Zarek. Has your sense of dramatics completely abandoned you?”

~

Somehow, the waiting room in the Chamber of the Guildpact managed to be even more uncomfortable than Niv-Mizzet’s office. In theory, this should have been impossible; There were no massive distractions, no domineering beasts that filled one’s vision, and the closest thing the waiting room had to garish was the ornate sphinx statues that stared down from plinths that small children had no fear of inscribing with all kinds of signatures.

But it was quiet. The chairs, while comfortable enough, were just a little bit more stiff than one would expect before sitting down, and the windows were just dusty enough that the sunlight felt a hundred yards away. The effect was even worse when Ral chose to sit in the sun, because that just gave him a headache on top of everything else.

He derived some small comfort from knowing that Beleren had nothing to do with how awful this room was to exist in for more than two seconds. He had suffered through bureaucracy on exactly enough planets to know that this was what any waiting room eventually became, no matter how many exotic potted plants were stuck in the corners by the fools in Interior Design.

Today, he had no intention of sitting around and waiting. As soon as the doors were opened, he marched across the cold linoleum floor towards the only living being in the room.

“Lavinia! How are you today?”

“Just peachy, Zarek.” The secretary to the Living Guildpact was the very picture of professionalism, her hair cut close and short so as to never get in the way of any of her duties. Her suit glimmered with the faint aura of ethereal armor, a spell that would turn aside all but the most neighborhood-leveling of onslaughts. She was an ideal bodyguard, which was what made it so puzzling that she was out here, typing away at a computer.

“Glad to hear it.” Ral straightened his tie, and did his best to smile at the waiting room’s sparse décor. “Is that a new phytohydra?”

Lavinia looked up from her work for a few moments, then nodded and returned her attention to the screen. “A gift from Trostani. They were hoping that Mister Beleren could be persuaded to allow the Conclave more freedom to conduct their affairs.”

Ral gave a careful smile, and hoped he had not already been found out. “What sort of freedoms?”

“Less disruptors around their churches. They wanted the Worldsoul to be allowed to expand on its own, rather than waiting for the Selesnyans to convert greater numbers.” Her brow furrowed with obvious disdain. “Mister Beleren kept the plant, and increased supervision.” She looked up again, and made direct eye contact this time. “So, tell me, will I find any gifts if I frisk you?”

Ral reached into his pocket and pulled out a USB drive. “All I have is the details of my boss’s proposal for the Living Guildpact.” Professionalism, that was the key. Decorum, and precision, and everything else that the Izzet took great pride in not being known for. “You can feel free to look it over, if you’d like.” Above all, don’t give away that his career would probably depend on getting what the dragon wanted.

“Do you know what’s on it?”

Ral could not help but scoff. “Of course I know what’s on it.”

“Then I don’t need to.” Lavinia grinned. It was not an expression that looked right on her face. “Please, take a seat. Mister Beleren will receive you at his convenience.”

“Well, that isn’t terribly convenient for the rest of us.” An instinctive crackle of lightning laced its way up Ral’s ornate suit, arcing harmlessly between the ornamental but equally strategic copper wires.

“I’m very sorry, viceroy,” Lavinia said in the tone of voice that made it clear she was not sorry in the slightest and in fact quite happy with the situation, “but Mister Beleren is in his office at the moment, and has assured me that he is having a very busy and productive day. I would not expect him to be receiving any appointments for at least the next two hours. In the meantime, perhaps you would care to feed the phytohydra?” That last sentence was said in precisely the same tone with which a Golgari ambassador had once addressed Ral as fertilizer.

“I’m sure it gets enough food from people who are only here to waste your boss’s time.” Ral adjusted his watch, and did his best to ignore the crackle that raced up his arm. “I would like to see the Living Guildpact. I am sure it will only take a minute of his time.”

“Less.” The grin was getting far too wide. “Regardless, he is very busy and won’t have time to see you for quite a whi--” Lavinia’s eyes flashed with blue for a fraction of a second, and her grin disappeared. “Never mind. It seems that Mister Beleren will be happy to receive you in his office.”

The stifling silence of the waiting room was broken by the approaching squeak of sneakers against linoleum. Lavinia rolled her eyes.

“In fact, he’s _so_ happy to receive you that he’s having his _other_ secretary escort you in.”

Down the hall, a door opened, and the hurried squeak of sneakers drew near. Ral raised an eyebrow at that. Sneakers, in the Chamber of the Guildpact? What sort of secretary was this?

Then the sneakers rounded a corner, and Ral’s heart skipped a beat. Beleren’s secretary was an adorable sculpture of a man, with a smile as sweet as Selesnyan gumdrops and eyes that were the deep brown of Azcanta chocolate. He wore a simple pair of wire-framed glasses, though Ral doubted that any optician would prescribe gold rims. Hazelnut hair crowned his head, and with the face thoroughly appreciated Ral could do nothing but let his eyes drift downwards.

A button-up white shirt, the top few buttons undone in either haste or deliberate flirtation, it was difficult to tell. A laptop embossed with the black sun of the Orzhov, clutched close to the chest with both arms. A pair of very tight blue jeans, leaving more than a suggestion of the secretary’s attributes and how recently they had been… encouraged. And finally, sneakers so white they looked like they had been stitched from a sunbeam, with yellow socks underneath.

“Hello, Mister Zarek. Please, follow me.”

The secretary turned on his heel with a very unsexy squeak, but the view immediately made up for it. If the pants complimented his bulge, they outright glorified his ass. Ral followed on instinct, and found there was a downright scandalous skip in his step. His eyes raced up and down the tall drink of water, as though there were some delicious detail that had eluded his analyst’s eye.

“What did you say your name was?” he finally asked, pulling up alongside the secretary to try and conceal how much he had been staring.

“I didn’t.” It was the sort of cold thing that Lavinia would say, but it was warm as a church brazier with a glowing smile to match. “I’m Tomik Vrona. And you,” one hand left the laptop to fiddle with his glasses, “are Viceroy Ral Zarek.”

Ral had been looked at in a lot of interesting ways over the years, but this was the first time in a very long while that somebody looked interested in him. He had no idea what to say, and cast about for some kind of inoffensive small talk.

“So, you’re the Guildpact’s secretary?”

“Well, technically, that’s just Lavinia.” For some reason, Mister Vrona started to blush. “I’m more of a… personal assistant.”

It was an interesting distinction to make, especially when Mister Vrona was the one leading him to the office. “So, what kind of work do you do for the Guildpact?”

“I, um...” Mister Vrona stuttered for a moment, and his blush spread. “A little bit of everything, I suppose.” He started to walk a little faster, and Ral matched his pace without noticing.

“Well, you must do _something_ specific.” Ral let a little honey into his voice and leaned closer, keeping just enough distance between them to maintain an illusion of propriety. “Name one thing that you’ve done for the Living Guildpact today.”

“His taxes!” Mister Vrona blurted the words out almost before Ral was finished speaking. “I… I did his taxes for him. Because I’m an advokist, you see. A lawmage. A really, really good one. I’m really...” Mister Vrona was starting to stumble over his own feet in addition to his words, and Ral could not stop himself from reaching out a steadying hand.

Mister Vrona took a sudden deep breath in at the touch of Ral’s hand against his, and the laptop started to slip. Both of them threw out a hand to catch it, and their fingers met in the middle. The blushing grew, and the advokist started to tremble.

“Mister viceroy...” Oh Krokt, his lower lip was trembling like he was about to cry. Ral lifted one hand to Mister Vrona’s eyes, brushing away the beginnings of a tear with the tip of his thumb.

“Please, call me Ral.”

Was there any limit to how red his face could get? “And you can call me Tomik.”

Ral must have been dreaming. It must have been a dream. Why did the space between them seem to be getting less and less? He couldn’t be about to do this… could he?

Then a door opened, and both of them froze as a very familiar voice seized them by the spines.

“Hello, viceroy. I see you’ve met my Tomik.”

Ral was not usually afraid of humans, on the basis that even the strongest humans could not withstand 0.2 of an amp of electricity racing through their entire body at once. His brain made an exception for Jace Beleren, who might not have been the most powerful telepath on Ravnica but was absolutely the only one who could follow Ral off of the plane.

How many times had he felt the chill of Beleren’s thoughts among his own during the Implicit Maze, knowing that his every idea was feeding his rival’s meteoric race to the finish? How many private musings had been commented on out of nowhere by the seemingly omnipresent monster? And how many months had Ral spent poking every item in his office with a stick before touching it, for fear that he had been surrounded by illusions again?

Jace Beleren was almost aggressively real, as though screaming at the world that he couldn’t possibly be an illusion. There were no robes, no flawlessly tailored suits, not even a fancy watch. Beleren was wearing a pair of simple black jeans and a rumpled blue button-up short-sleeve that showcased the Guildpact’s arm tattoos in a way that would have seemed try-hardy on anyone else.

But once one reached the eyes, any question about how few tears were shed in the tattoo parlor evaporated. Beleren’s eyes were a dark blue, hauntingly familiar even to total strangers. They weren’t the sort of eyes to give longing stares, though, more the sort of eyes that stared at you so hard you could feel their gaze through three layers of stone.

Beleren’s face softened slightly, and he gave a light smile. It looked as though he had been taking lessons from Lavinia. “You don’t need to be afraid of me, Zarek. We’re on the same side now.”

Despite the billions of liters of fear chemicals sloshing around inside him, Ral could not stop himself from firing back. “Really? I don’t remember you joining the league.”

The smile grew wider, which was to say, Beleren made an effort to show more teeth. “All the guilds are on the same side now, Zarek. That is the entire. Point. Of me being here.” The Living Guildpact took two steps closer and reached out a hand to caress Tomik’s cheek, though he never broke eye contact with Ral. “Although perhaps you would like me to walk away from Ravnica for a while?”

Ral opened his mouth to say no, but stopped when he realized that Tomik was speaking. Well, making sounds. He was leaning into Beleren’s hand, doing his best to purr convincingly. Ral looked from side to side, expecting to be scandalized at any moment.

“Give me some credit, Zarek. People only see the things I want them to see.”

“So is he an illusion?” Ral indicated Tomik, who looked so hurt by the question that it felt like his hand would wither into nothing.

“You’ve touched him, haven’t you?” It sounded at once like a congratulation and a condemnation. “I fool the eyes, Zarek, nothing more. Touch is the only sword that can slay my ethereal armies.”

Ral stared, unsure what to say. “What is this? What’s going on here?”

“Please, step into my office.” Beleren indicated the door he had come through, and Ral breezed through it as quickly as he could manage without looking like he was fleeing. Behind him, he heard whispers passing between the Guildpact and his assistant. Try as he might, though, he couldn’t pick out a single word.

“Y-yes, Master Beleren.”

Ral tried to fight down the thought of that voice, the image of Tomik Vrona on his knees agreeing to whatever sick whim had just crossed the Guildpact’s mind. He wasn’t here to have sexual fantasies about government employees, no matter how hard the thought made him. He was here to negotiate.

The door clicked closed behind him just as Ral seated himself, but he didn’t dare turn around. Right now, he was just glad that Beleren wasn’t projecting anything into his head.

“Your imagination is already doing all the work for me, viceroy.” Ral could _hear_ the smile in Beleren’s voice. He watched the Guildpact strut over to the ornate mahogany desk in front of him, and part of him itched as he watched the most powerful man on Ravnica lean against it like it was just a park bench.

“Why are you here, Zarek?”

Ral smiled, and reached into his pocket. “I have with me the details of a proposal from the dragon Niv-Mizzet to allow the Izzet increased autonomy during public works projects.” He offered the USB drive, and Beleren stared at it as though he expected it to burst into flames.

“You have a very good memory, Mister Zarek. An impeccable memory for detail, especially where your orders are concerned.” He said all these things with a carefully casual air, as though he were not dooming Ral’s career with his every word.

“Thank you, Guildpact.” Ral remembered a patent that was awaiting approval on his desk, of a personal telepathic disruptor. He would have to make a note to fast-track that particular gadget.

“You must understand, Zarek, that my position carries certain obligations. I cannot merely sit on the sidelines and declare laws to keep the peace. I must make a concerted effort to protect this plane, and that means acting whenever I detect a threat to the system.”

“Of course, Guildpact.” Ral was trying very hard not to imagine what sort of punishment he had earned for going along with Niv-Mizzet’s plot.

“Really, Zarek, there’s no call for all that fear. You’re not being punished.”

Hope was a very dangerous thing in situations like this. All the same, Ral allowed himself to hope. “Promise?”

“Absolutely.” Beleren smiled, and it almost felt genuine. “I have no intention of allowing Niv-Mizzet to weaponize Ravnican sewers, and you have no intention of trying to convince me otherwise. All that is required here is to give you, shall we say, the proper incentive to convince the dragon to let this venture go.” He looked up, past Zarek, and his smile became one of genuine fondness. “Tomik. Don’t you think it’s time the viceroy was properly welcomed to my office?”

“Yes, Master Beleren.” The squeak of Tomik’s sneakers drew closer and closer, until he stood before Ral with a nervous smile on his face. “Mister Zarek, the Living Guildpact would like to formally welcome you to--”

“A _proper_ welcome, Tomik.” Beleren was grinning ear to ear now, a trickster god incarnate.

The advokist gulped, his eyes flitting from the floor to Ral and back down. “Yes, Master Beleren.” He sank to his knees, and Ral’s legs had parted before he even processed what was going on.

“It seems you’re both eager to begin,” Beleren teased.

“To begin… what?” Ral stared down at Tomik, and those deep brown eyes stared back at him with a look that he could only describe as hunger.

“My Tomik likes you, Mister Zarek. He’s always so happy to meet new people, especially when they’re as handsome and polite as you. He wants to show you how happy he is to meet you.”

Tomik nodded, and he traced his hands along the swirls and whorls of Ral’s pants before coming to rest against his belt. He fiddled with the clasp, and just as Ral was about to take over, Tomik whispered a few arcane words and the entire affair clicked open.

“He’s very good at what he does, you see. Patient, diligent, and very good at identifying weak spots.”

Tomik’s fingers found the zipper, and he made a big show of pulling it all the way down before he finally let his hands wander to Ral’s hardening cock. A tiny moan escaped through Ral’s lips.

“You wanted to fuck him this whole time, didn’t you, Zarek? You wanted to escort him back to Nivix and fuck him senseless on your desk from the moment you saw him.”

Tomik had one hand resting on Ral’s freed cock, while the other tightened on his leg. His mouth was hanging open, his tongue waiting so patiently for Ral to say the right thing.

“Yes. Mother of storms, yes.” The lawyer between his legs hummed, and inched just closed enough that Ral could feel his hot breath on his cock.

“Unfortunately for you, Tomik belongs to me.” Tomik whimpered, even as he pressed his face against Ral’s balls. “And I don’t usually like to share.”

Ral had just enough time to raise an eyebrow in confusion before Tomik’s eyes flashed with a blue pulse, and there was suddenly a warm tongue between his legs.

“But let it never be said that the Living Guildpact will not make sacrifices for the sake of Ravnica.” It started to get hard to concentrate on Beleren’s words as Tomik worked his way up Ral’s shaft, licking and kissing every inch as he rose closer and closer to the head. “And I know you’ll appreciate my curiosity about what it looks like when somebody else is fucking him.”

Ral finally decided what to do with his hands, threading his fingers through Tomik’s hair and trying not to just grab on and pull him down. Tomik seemed to know what he wanted, though, as he winked and dove onto Ral’s cock.

“I’m sure you have plenty of experience with placating the dragon,” Beleren kept rambling while Tomik did his best to swallow Ral’s entire cock as quickly as he could. “It will be interesting to see how much my relationship with the Izzet improves after this.”

Ral tried to think of some witty comeback, but all that came out of his mouth was a deep, throaty moan. He could feel Tomik’s throat squeeze around his cock as the advokist chuckled, and his hands tightened into fists in the man’s hair. Up, down, up, down, moan, gasp, tongue rolling over the head of his cock, the occasional scrape of teeth against his shaft…

“So good.” They weren’t the right words, weren’t strong enough, beautiful enough to describe the things that were being done for him, but everything that got closer to the truth had too many syllables for what he was capable of. “So fucking good.”

Better, but only by a very thin margin.

“Were it not for the wonders of telepathy, I might think you were being rude.” Beleren was pretending to inspect his nails, even as his eyes remained glued to his assistant. “But lucky for us, I can see every delicious thought of yours, about how amazing and beautiful and skilled in the fine art of oral pleasure my Tomik is.”

Tomik moaned at the praise, one of his hands moving from his knee to palm the huge tent in his pants. Ral grinned, and his hips twitched softly at the sight.

“Of course, my assistant has many fine qualities that extend beyond the use of his tongue. I hope to show you a few more of them before our meeting has run its course.”

Tomik looked up at Ral, his eyes twinkling with excitement and, at this point, utterly unrestrained lust. It was the kind of look that had been absent from Ral’s life for far too long, and he couldn’t stop his hips from bucking as his thoughts raced with every kind of idea for what other talents Tomik might have.

There was a sharp wheeze from below, but that appeared to be the only effect Ral’s involuntary movement was having on the insatiable slut. He stared with slowly blurring vision as Tomik swallowed his cock again, faster and smoother and harder and somehow even _warmer_ and _tighter_\--

“Close,” he gasped, thrusting again. “Won’t last… much longer...”

“Can’t have that.” And then Tomik was gasping for air, his mouth hanging open and dripping with drool and precum. Beleren had a hold of him by the hair, and he was grinning ear to ear.

“You wanted the viceroy to finish in your mouth, didn’t you?” Tomik tried to nod, but all he could manage was a vague whimper of assent. “I know you did. But we’re not done here, and I want to make sure that our guest is _entirely_ satisfied.”

His arms were around Tomik now, pulling him to his feet with a speed and ease that made part of Ral desperate to peel that shirt off of the Guildpact and check for muscles. And then Tomik was stumbling, spinning, falling against his master’s desk.

Ral surged unsteadily to his feet, his hands already reaching out to help him up, but then he noticed how Tomik had fallen. Tomik was bent over the desk, his gods-given ass presented in all its glory, and his cock pressed against the elaborately carved mahogany. As the seconds ticked by, Tomik started to thrust weakly against the wood, stifling his whines and moans with a pile of paperwork.

“Why do you hesitate, Zarek? You seemed so eager and full of energy just now. Is my storm array not to your satisfaction?”

Ral had no brainwaves spare to cringe at the awkward innuendo, too hypnotized by the twitches and shudders of the advokist’s ass to seize the opportunity.

“For an Izzet man, you certainly seem in desperate need of some direction.” Beleren leaned against the desk as casually as if there weren’t a moaning slut two inches from his left hand, then grinned like a dragon before moving his hand between the desk and Tomik’s hips.

A thrust, a moan, an inarticulate plea for release, and then the click of a latch.

The pants that must have been custom-tailored for that body down to the stitch slipped away as though they were greased, and Ral’s heart did a somersault as the denim gave way to bare skin, not a single strand of undergarments to pad or smooth over a single delicious imperfection of this beauty. The sneakers and socks vanished with an impatient spark of blue, and Beleren’s mischievous grin became a warm smile of pride and fondness.

“Ral...” He had never heard someone sound so weak, and at the same time so proud of how they sounded. “Please, I need it inside me. I need to be fucked, I need to feel you cum, please, Ral!”

“Well, when you beg so nicely...” Ral took a heavy step forward and laid a firm hand on Tomik’s ass. His fingers tightened on instinct, and his cock twitched at the lovely feeling of soft flesh yielding to him. “It would seem you make for quite the master, Beleren.”

There was that look in the Guildpact’s eye, the look that said that of course he had picked up on every subtle little meaning in your words because he could see your intent as clear as day. “He’s always been this compliant. He just needs someone who appreciates that. Someone willing to encourage his knees to go weak, and his legs to spread.”

The begging got louder, and the Guildpact responded by reaching out a hand and tracing it along the curve of Tomik’s spine. “At your convenience, Mister Zarek. My Tomik has been _very_ adequately prepared for this eventuality.”

Ral’s left hand finally mirrored his right in grabbing a handful of ass, and he spread the cheeks apart with a reverence usually only seen in the most enraptured of Selesnya’s evangels. The hole gaped at him, moist and winking and so inviting. Ral took another step closer, the tip of his cock pressing hard against the hole.

“Inside… please… insiiide...”

His hands moved to Tomik’s hips. Increasing the pressure slowly, slowly, nearly in.

“Tomik...”

And then there were no words. There was only the moan, a long scream of satisfaction as Tomik was finally filled. What had been meant as a soft and merciful ease into his hole became a thrust, wild and primal, and Ral buried half his cock into the desperate whore with a single thrust.

“Finally.” The Guildpact’s hands were snaking around Ral from behind, fiddling with the buttons of his suit while Tomik spasmed around his cock. Ral gasped for breath and thrust harder, further, bottoming out in a motion that made Tomik yelp like he had been splashed with ice water.

The pull of Ral’s suit jacket coming off was all the encouragement he needed to start pulling away, pulling out, dragging the tight hole with him as Tomik screamed and begged for him to stay buried inside. And then his hands were on Tomik’s hips, and he was _thrusting_, and then pulling, and then _thrusting_, over and over again. Now harder, now softer, now slower, now faster. Now bending over Tomik, now moaning against his shoulder, now biting down just because it felt like there needed to be something more to hold onto, now, now, “Now!”, _now_.

Sparks. Sparks, not sparks, bolts, sparks in the same way that the guttural heart of magma-drenched Valakut was a spark, absolutely definitely the worst thing to feel welling up inside you after the very best thing to well up inside…

And then the cold wash of countermagic and the sharp pain of a hand suddenly grabbing in his hair.

“You should be more careful, Mister Zarek.” The Guildpact was talking. It was, in a distant and unfocused way, very important and nice to focus on what the Guildpact was saying. “You nearly cost me another desk.”

“Sorry, master.” Were those words coming out of his mouth? They were. They sounded nice. They felt nice to say.

“Now, if you don’t mind, it’s _my _turn.” His fingers on Ral’s hips, not enough to lift him off but enough to suggest very clearly to start moving. A shaky step back into waiting arms, definitely stronger than they had been in the maze, and then softly lowered to the floor. Nose grazed by denim as the Guildpact’s pants were discarded, and an involuntary sway forward as he stepped away.

Somewhere a thousand miles away right in front of him, Tomik was turning around, flipping over onto his back with an acrobatic and inexhaustible grace. He was leaking all over the desk. He was leaking _Ral_ all over the desk. He was leaking Ral all over the Guildpact’s desk, and now there was another cock, delicious, amazing, resting against the hole, pressing into it, driving into it.

“Mine.” The word was spoken, thought, etched into the very walls of the multiverse with the echo of the Guildpact’s magic. And it echoed, ringing like a bell with every thrust. Ral found himself rising to his knees, crawling forward to rest his face against that steadily rocking ass. His tongue dove for the Guildpact’s hole, and he shuddered at the taste, at the way it tightened around him and made his master grunt and move. The sounds that Tomik was making now were making Ral’s efforts look pathetic, and then he heard it.

“Master, master, it’s coming, I’m coming, please, please, please may I come, please--”

“Yes.”

Every safety regulation he had ever disobeyed or forgotten about flared in Ral’s mind for one condemning but deeply intimate moment, nearly drowning out the joyous scream and the thud of Tomik’s head falling back against the desk. What felt like a moment and an eternity later, the Guildpact tightened, and his orgasm shook through the minds of the other two with a force that left Ral even more rattled than before.

Ral felt himself falling away from his master’s ass, his hands just barely catching himself before rattling off the floor. The Guildpact slumped and stumbled into the chair behind the desk. And Tomik…

Tomik straightened up where he sat and began to unbutton his dress shirt. It was hard to spot through orgasm-blurred eyes and on a white shirt, but he had finished all over himself. If there was any hope for that shirt to be salvaged, it lay at the end of a long week of wash cycles.

Maybe Ral could send them a dishwasher. No, better yet, a laundry machine. That couldn’t be misconstrued as a bribe, surely.

The shirt fell to the floor. Tomik slid off the desk, naked, glistening, and bright-eyed with who knew what kind of stamina magic.

“Ready for round two, Mister Zarek?”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at goblins-choose-to-live on Tumblr!


End file.
